Home > Uncategorized > Day Two Hundred and Forty-Two: Boogeyman

Day Two Hundred and Forty-Two: Boogeyman

Ethan Chaskey was certain that it took just under forever for his father to finally come into his bedroom after he called. Yes, it was three in the morning, and yes he knew his father had to sleep, but he still found himself wondering if his father really wanted him to die, or if he just wasn’t taking things seriously enough.

“Whaddyou want, Ethan,” his father asked. His voice was thick and sleepy. His face was puffy, and Ethan wasn’t even certain his eyes were open. He wore the same old sweats and a t-shirt that he always wore to bed, clothes so very different from the suit and tie he left and came home in. Sometimes Ethan wasn’t sure if the man who he saw at night was actually the same man he saw during the day. He had no real reason to believe that his father had been replaced by someone else. Right now he had bigger problems.

“Dad,” he said. He pulled the covers up to his chin and glanced at the closet door. “Dad, it’s in my closet again.”

His father sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Ethan,” he said, and for a moment it seemed like he would just turn around and go back to bed. Instead, though, he walked over and dropped down on the edge of the bed. The whole bed seemed to sink under his weight, and Ethan wondered why it didn’t break. His father wasn’t fat, like Mr. Waltham down the street. But he wasn’t a little guy. He was… dad. He was bigger, just because that’s what dads were. And while he’d been told that he would one day be a grownup, just like his dad, Ethan had never been able to imagine himself so big that his own bed would groan under his weight. It’d probably snap if he tried to jump on it.

“Ethan,” his father said. “We have to stop this.” He reached over and put his hand on Ethan’s head. “You’re eight years old, kid,” he said, “and you’re way too old to believe in closet-monsters, okay?”

“But dad -”

“I know,” his father said, rubbing his eyes again. “I know you think there’s something there, but I promise you, Ethan. There are no monsters.” He looked over at him, and even through the sleepiness, Ethan could see the power in his father’s eyes. This was the man who went to the office every day, who signed contracts and had deals and clients and things. And when he came home and talked about his day, this was the look in his eyes. There was so much that Ethan didn’t understand about it, but he knew that his father understood it all – every bit of it. That was how he looked now, but this time it wasn’t helping.

His father patted him on the leg. “Okay, kid?” he said. “No monsters.” He stood up and yawned for a long time. “G’night, Ethan,” he said.

“But dad, I really need you to check!” Ethan wanted to burrow under the blankets and go to sleep. He wanted to be able to lie back and close his eyes and wake up with the morning sun on his face, just like normal people did. But the closet wouldn’t let him. It was like a noise that you could barely hear, but couldn’t ignore. It was like the splinter in your finger that you couldn’t find. Like those hairs down the back of your shirt after a haircut.

Opening the doors would bring him peace, of course. He knew that. If he could just go up and open the doors and look in, he’d see that there was nothing there but all the stuff he jammed in when he last cleaned his room, plus whatever clothes he’d gotten around to hanging up. There would be no monsters, no creature, no horrible things waiting to devour a sweet little boy like him whole. He knew that was what he’d find.

But he didn’t believe it for a second. It only worked when his dad did it. He didn’t know why, but that was the way of things. His father would open the doors for him, do the fatherly thing and take the chance for his son. Then there would be only clothes and toys, and Ethan would be able to sleep.

“Please, dad,” he said quietly. “Just this one more time.”

His father stood there so long, Ethan thought he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he sighed. “You know, Ethan,” he said. “Your mom thinks I shouldn’t be coming in here like this. You know that?” He turned around and walked slowly to the closed, stepping around toys and books and clothes on the floor. “She thinks that we’re just encouraging your imagination. That you’ll grow out of it if we just leave you alone.” He took the handle of the closet door and turned around to look. “I think she’s right. So this is it, Ethan.” He fixed him with The Look again. “Last time.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes looking past his father.

His father opened the door and turned around, face-to-face with a creature the likes of which Ethan couldn’t have begun to imagine. The boy froze, hands gripping the bedspread and eyes wide.

The thing’s skin was red and glistening, suppurating and dripping from what looked to be like a wound that covered its whole body, a wound that drenched the bedroom in a foul smell that made Ethan want to stop eating for the rest of his life. Great, swollen flies crawled over it, digging into its flesh before burrowing out and flying to another place to dine again on the blood and blackness that coated the monster’s thin, powerful limbs that were folded in on itself. Its teeth and its claws shone like the knives in his mother’s kitchen, catching the scant light in the darkened bedroom and glimmering in the shadows. And its eyes – eyes that were horrible, poisonous yellow – stared right at him. They were eyes that promised a long and lingering death, an eternity alone in a darkness deeper than any bedroom, any closet could offer. The thing looked first at Ethan’s father, then at Ethan. It growled in a sub-sonic rumble that Ethan could feel in his bones. And it smiled.

“See, Ethan,” his father said, turning his back on the thing in the closet. “Nothing there.” Behind him, the creature seemed to swell and pulse, like a great heart made of poisoned muscle. It opened its mouth wide, new teeth seeming to sprout from its black and diseased gums as the four-part jaws spread wider and wider like a flower full of needles right behind his father’s head. Saliva dripped onto his shoulder, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “Okay, son?” he said. He looked behind him again and shook his head. “And that doesn’t count as cleaning your room, by the way.” The infinite teeth behind his head shivered and trembled, coming closer and closer to snapping shut until they came within a hair’s breadth of brushing his father’s cheeks.

He must know, Ethan thought. There’s no way he can’t know. He trembled under his bedspread and, in his head, screamed for his father to run. To come into the bed, even if it did collapse, and hide under the blanket with him until that thing in his closet got up and went away to some other boy’s house. His father was there, so calm and so sleepy and so old, and that thing was going to eat him from the head down and Ethan would have to watch. If he looked away, that’s when it would strike. And it wouldn’t stop with his dad.

His father walked away. Behind him, the thing closed its horrible mouth again, and still it seemed to smile as it shifted its position in the closet. Ethan’s eyes were pinned to it. “There you go,” his father said. He knelt down by the bed and brushed Ethan’s cheek. He looked at his son for a moment, at the way he was still staring at the closet, and followed his gaze. The thing raised a single six-fingered hand, its joints creaking and cracking as it did. Each finger ended in those terrible, broken knives, and it waved.

“You know what?” his father said. “I’m going to leave that door open for you tonight. So if you wake up again and you think there’s something there, you can just look over and see for yourself.” He leaned over and kissed Ethan on the forehead. “You go to sleep now,” he said. “Love you.” He rubbed his son’s head once, and then was gone. His footsteps went on for a little bit, and then the door to his bedroom opened and closed, and Ethan was well and truly alone. With the thing.

He couldn’t move at all. He was pretty sure he’d peed the bed.

The creature in his closet stared at him with those awful, owl-like eyes that seemed so much more intelligent and hateful and evil. Then it reached out with its spindly, skeletal hand and wrapped its long and steely fingers around the doorknob.

Slowly, its gaze never leaving Ethan’s, it closed the closet door. The last thing Ethan saw of it was the malicious glimmer of its eye.

There was a moment of perfect, peaceful silence before a voice slithered into his head.

Good night, Ethan. Pleasant dreams.

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